


veşnic verde

by itsmylifekay



Series: Pahar [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:06:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: It's been years since I've visited this verse, even longer since its creation. Thank you for all the love its gotten. And especially thanks to @skinnystve who commissioned for something more.As always, inspired by the poem Pahar by Ion Muresan, Romanian within the fic is from that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skinnystve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinnystve/gifts).



> It's been years since I've visited this verse, even longer since its creation. Thank you for all the love its gotten. And especially thanks to @skinnystve who commissioned for something more.
> 
> As always, inspired by the poem Pahar by Ion Muresan, Romanian within the fic is from that.

The world has come back to life in vibrant color, bright reds, deep purples, and a thousand shades of green. Patches of cheery yellow daffodils dot the walkway, mixing with tulips to signal the absolute arrival of spring. The sun is warm and glaring overhead, heating the air and the ground, but not quite able to penetrate the icy waters of the river. It flows forward, glistening and tempting and fueled by the nearby mountain’s melting snow.

Bucky nearly falls over when he first puts his foot in, sucking in a breath as he feels his entire body lock up and start yelling for retreat. But he pushes through, wades in until he’s knee-deep, picking carefully over rocks until he makes it to one of the large boulders jutting out of the current.

Steve is waiting there already, one elbow propped on a bended knee and looking down at Bucky like the smug bastard he is. His piercings glint in the sun and after another month his hair will be sun-bleached enough to shine in the glare as well, a halo that Bucky looks forward to seeing every year.

As it is, he splashes his way over, clumsy and awkward those final few steps, and hauls himself up onto the rock with all the grace of an elephant seal come to land. Steve laughs at him unashamedly.

“Wow, Buck. Really out of practice, aren’t you?”

Bucky huffs and situates himself properly, shaking his head. “It’s been a year and this water is a hell of a lot colder than I remember. Kind of hard to coordinate your limbs when you can’t feel them.”

Steve pouts at him sympathetically, one foot still kicking gently at the current. He puts the other foot in then turns to look up at the sky, blue and smeared with thin, white clouds just at the edges. “Rece ca gheaţa.” [Cold as ice]

Bucky hums his agreement, sticks his own feet in the river, watches as the flowing water distorts their edges. Tingles race up his calves, needle pinpricks at the end of his toes. The sun is warm on his shoulders, his back, his chest. The contrast makes something inside of him sing, makes him breathe that much deeper, chest pulling in as much air as he can until he feels full to bursting.

There’s a backpack on the rock between them, packed with a bottle of sunscreen, water, and some of their favorite snacks, two towels stacked on top. Their shoes are back on the bank, alongside another backpack with their wallets and phones, Steve’s sketchbook and pencils, a novel that Bucky’s been reading to Steve.

Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him, knows without a doubt that Steve will make him pose later, sit up on the rock while Steve wades to the bank and captures him in careful strokes of graphite. Until then, he’s content to let Steve look, to feel those eyes on him, warm like the sun.

Steve’s always liked him without a shirt. Well, he’s always liked what he calls “voluntary shirtlessness”, times when Bucky doesn’t necessarily _have_ to take his shirt off but does it anyway. Not like showering or sex, but when Bucky would be hot and sweaty out mowing the lawn in high school, or picked for the ‘skins’ team for casual games of soccer or basketball in university. Or out at the river, shoulders freckling in the sun.

Bucky still remembers that conversation, the look in Steve’s eyes as he’d explained the draw, the way he’d always felt conflicted in those moments, wanting both to tackle Bucky to the ground and to sit and stare while he had the chance. Usually, he kept to watching, waiting until they were in the privacy of their room to peel Bucky back out of his shirt and lick the sweat from his skin.

Bucky understands the feeling. He looks at Steve now, swim trunks and a long-sleeved shirt to protect his tattoos, a special band around his left thigh as well where the ink has begun to creep further down. The tattoo on his own wrist is still exposed, but slathered in sunscreen. He reaches out and tangles their fingers together, brings Steve’s hand up to kiss the back of his knuckles.

A bead of sweat drips down his spine.

“You wanna wade out a bit further?” he asks.

Steve’s answering smile is sharp, dangerous, the only warning Bucky gets before Steve jumps down into the river and pulls Bucky with him, fingers tight around Bucky’s own.

He sputters as he finds his footing, shuddering at the cold droplets that have splashed up against his chest. But Steve’s still got his hand, not letting go.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He does a horrible approximation of a bow, one arm flung out towards the deeper part of the river. He looks back up at Bucky with sunlight and mirth dancing in his eyes. “Shall we?”

Bucky sniffs and lifts his head, changes his grip on Steve’s hand and does his own curtsy in return. “We shall.”

There’s a beat of silence before they both burst into laughter. They go splashing out into the river, frigid water lapping at their knees, their waists, making them both gasp and suck in their stomachs as though that will somehow delay the inevitable. They stop when the water is just above their bellybuttons, reaching down to scoop water up onto their arms then shaking off the droplets in the sun.

“Fuck, it’s cold.” Bucky curses.

Steve, the lunatic, reaches down and scoops water over his head, gasping at the sudden cold before shaking his head and sending icy daggers in every direction. Bucky curses again, barely dodging out of the way as Steve does it a second time, leaving icy cold rivulets dripping from his hair down his back, over his chest.

“You’re insane, you know that?”

Steve blows out a breath and blinks up at the sun. “Not so bad once you get used to it,” he says. He turns to Bucky with a smile. “You should give it a try.”

“Oh no, not on your life,” he backs away, trying to keep one eye on the rocks below and one eye on his sadist of a boyfriend. “I know that look, Rogers. Don’t even think about it.”

“What look?” Steve asks innocently. Or at least, it would be innocent if Bucky hadn’t been a victim of that look for _years_ and knew full well where this was heading.

Steve stoops down again and cups water over his back and shoulders, splashes the front of his chest and up his arms until he’s well and truly soaking. Then, like some horrible, dripping monster, he picks his way over to where Bucky’s standing in the middle of the river, unmoving and resigned to his fate.

“You know,” Steve says, pausing just an arm’s length away. “It’s not as fun when you actually _let_ me do it.”

Bucky lifts a brow. “That mean you’re gonna keep your cold, wet hands to yourself?”

The sun is still warm and bright overhead, the occasional cloud only causing the barest hint of a shadow before being quickly ushered along. Steve stops to think for a moment, taking in their surroundings, the quiet rush of the river and the inaudible voices of a group of kids further downstream.

He steps up to Bucky, holding his body carefully away. “If that’s what you want,” he murmurs, kissing the side of Bucky’s neck, the soft edge of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, leaning down as Steve pushes up on his toes, lips a hairsbreadth away. “I’ll keep my hands far, far away.”

He steps back and Bucky nearly stumbles, eyes snapping open and hands reaching out to reel Steve in by the hips. He stares at Steve with wide, searching eyes, finds nothing but fond amusement and the hint of a dare. And far be it from Bucky to put a stop to things when Steve’s the one feeling frisky in public. He gets a firmer grip on Steve’s hips and leans down to nuzzle at the side of his face.

“You know I never want that,” he murmurs. “Please, Steve.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, Steve surging up to kiss him before the words have completely left his mouth. It’s warm and familiar as always, but with an added edge as Steve pulls Bucky down to meet him, presses their chests together and sends a jolt down Bucky’s spine at the sudden cold. Fingers tangle through his hair and his own thumbs dip underneath Steve’s shirt, rubbing over sharp hipbones and making him forget the chill.

Bucky’s hair is just long enough for Steve to get a good grip and he doesn’t pass up the opportunity, tugging Bucky where he wants him and leaving Bucky groaning helplessly against his lips. He pushes one hand up to splay across Steve’s back, Steve’s knobby spine sharp against the heat of his palm. The other he cups to the side of Steve’s face, holding on like a lifeline as Steve coaxes them into something slower, softer. Bucky’s already drowning in it, panting as Steve gently kisses at his bottom lip. Fingers push through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp before his face is cradled between two cool palms.

He pushes his own hand through the wet hair at the top of Steve’s head, pushing it away from his forehead and into some semblance of order. Steve leans in and kisses him again, a brief peck of lips before he’s leaning back with a smile so full of love Bucky’s sure he’ll never feel the cold again. He wants to cry, to yell, to laugh until his stomach hurts, but he settles for bringing Steve into his chest, wrapping himself around him until Steve grunts and lets out a little wheeze at the pressure. He loosens his hold, only slightly, and lets out an indignant huff at the soft chuckle it garners.

“You doing okay there, Buck?”

Bucky grunts again, not really trusting his voice at the moment, or his ability to not burst into undignified tears as soon as he opens his mouth.

Steve hums lowly, wraps his own arms around Bucky’s waist and holds on tight. “Okay, Buck,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

They stand like that for a while, getting warmed by the sun and each other while their legs continue to freeze in the river’s pull. Finally, Bucky pulls away and looks down at Steve with a sheepish smile. He pinches the fabric of Steve’s shirt between his fingers. “You’re almost dry.”

“Yeah,” he drawls, taking a step back, mouth twitching up at the corner. “For now.”

Bucky only has a moment to realize what that means before Steve falls back into the water, sending a giant splash in Bucky’s direction. Steve is thoroughly drenched and Bucky is well on his way, skin once again covered in goose pimples as he wades in after Steve and sends a wave of water in the other man’s direction.

Sun glints off the water, laughter mixing with the current as it flows downstream. They splash and play and drag each other under, acting like the schoolboys they haven’t been in years. At some point, Bucky picks Steve up from around the waist, laughs while Steve flails and curses through laughter of his own, sends them both tumbling backwards into the deepest part of the river, at the basin of a waterfall. They surface laughing and Bucky quickly swims away, just making it to shallower water when Steve is suddenly attached to his back like a limpet.

Wiry arms wrap around his shoulders and his waist is bracketed by deceptively strong thighs. Steve gives him a couple firm pats on the chest. “Let’s go. Giddy up.”

Bucky laughs but does as he’s told, bringing his hands down to help support Steve’s weight under his thighs as he wades towards their rock, water no longer helping keep Steve afloat. But it’s okay, because Steve’s light and Bucky’s strong, hitting the gym regularly for a number of personal reasons, possibly including being able to do things like this, or carrying Steve to bed, or up the stairs if it’s a particularly bad day. (He’ll neither confirm nor deny those allegations.)

Steve drops back down into the water once they’re only a foot away and the water is just barely past their shins. He scrabbles up onto the rock and Bucky is quick to do the same, stretching out over the sun-warmed surface and letting out a groan as the heat seeps into his icy skin.

Steve flicks him once on the shoulder. Bucky just groans again in response.

There’s a bit more shuffling and then Steve is pressed up to his side, wet hair on Bucky’s shoulder and warm breath against his neck. They fit together perfectly and Bucky’s heart feels light and warm as he falls asleep beneath the gentle rays of the sun.

When he wakes, there’s a towel draped over him and a hat pulled down across his face, his nose tickling slightly with the smell of nail polish. He sits up and scrubs at his hair, murmuring a quiet thanks when Steve tosses the sunscreen into his lap. He reapplies it carefully, watching out of the corner of his eye as Steve methodically applies what looks like the second coat of black to his fingernails. His toes are still dark from a few weeks earlier, chipped but serviceable for the time being. Maybe Steve will let him paint them for him after work sometime in the upcoming week.

He finishes with the sunscreen then wraps his towel around his shoulders, keeping his back covered until Steve can help him reach those tricky spots. He reaches out and smears a bit of extra across the bridge of Steve’s nose, rubbing it into the apples of his cheeks while Steve scrunches his face up at him spectacularly.

Time passes. The sun shines. And Steve applies the topcoat to his nails before settling back down at Bucky’s side to let them dry.

Bucky breathes it all in, the chemical smell of nail polish and sunscreen, the slight salt of their sweat and the dampness of the river. He pulls Steve closer and turns his head to look over the drying blond of Steve’s hair, out towards the bank where patches of daffodils are still dotting the walkway, bright and vibrant as they reach towards the sun.

He can’t help but think that everything is perfect, just the way it is.

Totu-i vis şi armonie.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky’s sprawled out in his chair, absentmindedly rocking back and forth on its two back legs when the friend he’s with suddenly sucks in a breath and hunches down in his seat.

Looking curiously back over his shoulder, Bucky grins when he sees Steve shouldering his way through the door, muttering under his breath and looking absolutely way too pissed off for ten in the morning. He’d make a joke about someone pissing in his cereal, but Bucky poured that cereal, kissed Steve on the top of his head on the way out the door while Steve dug into that cereal.

Obviously, something’s happened between Bucky leaving the apartment and Steve darkening the door of this innocent coffee shop.

He’s drawn away from his observations when he feels a kick underneath the table. He turns back to his friend, Michael, and sees a series of frantic hand gestures that he doesn’t even try to understand.

He plants his chair back down on the ground and lifts one questioning brow. “What?”

“Stop _staring,_ you idiot.” Michael hisses. “That dude is scary as fuck.”

Bucky’s other eyebrow shoots up to join the first. He peers back over his shoulder again to see if he’s missed someone, if he was so distracted by Steve’s entrance that a body builder or biker gang had stumbled in without him noticing. But nope, it’s still just Steve, now up at the counter squinting up at the menu like he’s got a bone to pick, or like he just can’t see it well.

He laughs under his breath and gets another light kick.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Michael whispers, urging Bucky to turn back around. “Seriously. The dude’s not someone you wanna mess with. I’ve seen him around the area, he’ll start fights for someone looking at him wrong.”

Bucky snorts. “Who? Steve?” He looks back over his shoulder and finally catches Steve’s eye, waving at him excitedly and getting an eye roll in return. “Steve’s a bigger softie than this cinnamon roll, don’t worry about him.”

Michael sputters into his coffee. “You know him? Wait--” He takes an entirely too long pause and Bucky can practically _see_ the gears turning in his head. “Steve. Like _Steve,_ Steve. Like love-of-your-life-childhood-sweetheart Steve. _That_ Steve?”

“The one and only.” Bucky grins and reaches to the next table over, thankfully empty, and swipes a chair. “But seriously, don’t worry, he only bites if you actually deserve it. Or if you ask real nice.”

Steve chooses that moment to stomp over and throw his bag down at the floor by Bucky’s feet. “I swear, if one more person offers to carry my bag today, I’m going to throw hands.” He pivots on his heel and goes back up to the counter to get his coffee.

Bucky turns back to Michael, who looks at him with a disbelieving expression. Bucky shrugs and picks up the duffel, grunting a bit at the weight before wedging it into the space between their table and the wall. Steve flops down beside him a moment later, takes a sip of his scalding coffee and glares at the table.

Bucky looks him over carefully, notes the lack of bruising from a fight, the windedness of an asthma attack. Steve’s just had a shitty morning, it seems. Well, nothing a little dose of Bucky-charm can’t fix.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky says, leaning over to bump Steve’s shoulder. “This is Michael, from work.”

Steve looks up from the table and blinks between Bucky and Michael, taking a moment to compose himself. “The one with the beagle?”

“Uh, yup, that’s me.” Michael reaches out to shake the hand that Steve’s extended. “And you’re Steve?”

Steve nods and takes another drink of his coffee, already eyeing Bucky’s plate. “Yeah, sorry to barge in. I’ll leave in just a minute here.”

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Michael starts. “I’ll need to head home to let the dog out in about an hour, we could all hang out until then.” Steve looks at him in surprise and Michael just shrugs. “We’ve all heard so much about you from Bucky, but no one from work has actually met you yet. Any and all time with you would grant me supreme bragging rights.”

A laugh punches out of Steve’s chest, pleasantly surprised. “Well then,” he says, leaning back in his chair and tangling one of his feet with Bucky’s beneath the table. “Would hate to deprive you of the opportunity.”

Bucky doesn’t even try to hide his smile, turning to Michael and pointedly ignoring the banana slice Steve swipes from his plate. The conversation flows around them lazily, mostly kept up by Bucky and Michael, Steve interjecting when the mood strikes. Steve’s a private guy, something all Bucky’s friends at work know, so Michael is careful not to push too far into their personal life, something for which Bucky is thankful. It means Steve stays engaged, doesn’t shut himself out of the conversation and eventually opens up enough to throw a few jokes around.

When Bucky’s plate runs out of bananas for Steve to steal, he moves on to the last few bites of cinnamon roll Bucky has surreptitiously left scattered about. He pops the first piece into his mouth, nodding along to what Michael’s said, and Bucky can’t help himself, reaches across that small amount of space between them and wipes a bit of frosting away with his thumb. Steve stares at him, eyes wide, and Bucky shakes his head with a wry smile. “Seriously, it’s like cannibalism.” He pops the frosting into his own mouth and watches as Steve turns the prettiest shade of pink.

Steve hides his face in his coffee and Bucky turns to Michael with a wink. “Told you he was a softie.”

Steve kicks him underneath the table.

Michael laughs and Steve retaliates by stealing Bucky’s plate entirely, finishing all the rest of his food as if that isn’t what Bucky’s wanted all along. He swallows the last piece of cinnamon roll with a pointed glare in Bucky’s direction, then piles all their dishes into Bucky’s space, even taking Michael’s to give Bucky a particularly precarious stack. He sips from his reusable to-go cup as Bucky walks to return their dishes, looking one hundred percent like the righteous asshole he is.

When Bucky gets back to the table, Steve is just finishing up. And Bucky’s very aware he looks like a besotted idiot, standing beside the table and staring at Steve, watching the line of his throat as he finishes the last of his coffee, the tattoos that have crept onto his knuckles and sometimes keep Bucky awake at night. Eventually, Steve looks down at his watch and turns to Michael.

“What direction are you headed? If it’s towards Harrison Park we can walk together a ways.”

Michael nods and pushes himself up. “It’s that general direction, yeah. Where are you two headed?”

Steve gestures to the bag Bucky is hefting back out from against the wall. “Food pantry. Had some coupons for canned goods to use, stuff like that.” He reaches out for the bag and scowls when Bucky keeps it out of his reach.

“I want you to show Michael some of your work,” Bucky explains, walking backwards towards the door. “And Michael is one of the clumsiest people I know, so probably best you keep hold of your phone.”

The thing is, it’s not even a lie. Bucky is always pushing Steve to show off what he does, and Michael truly is a walking disaster. Did Bucky purposefully hold off bringing these things up until this very moment? Maybe. Could that be proven in a court of law or under Steve’s withering gaze? Absolutely not.

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, just pulls out his phone as they walk out the door and begins scrolling through a few of the pictures he’s snapped of finished pieces, waving off compliments until Michael sucks in a breath and goes, “Wow.”

Steve clears his throat and hums in agreement. That in itself enough to have Bucky craning his neck to try and see the screen.

“That’s really something. You just do that for fun?”

“Yeah, I won’t sell it or anything.” Steve shrugs. “Helps when you have inspiration just lying around.”

Bucky can’t help himself, lets out a curious sound that has Michael grinning and Steve huffing out a breath, turning the phone so Bucky can see. And it’s not an abstract piece of metal work or jewelry, not a sculpture or design. It’s a sketch, one of those things that Bucky himself rarely gets to see because Steve guards them so carefully to his chest.

And it’s a sketch of _him,_ lines of his body drawn out carefully on the paper, tucked up in the corner of their couch with a book in his lap, sun warm across his shoulders. It’s beautiful and soft and Bucky has no idea when Steve would have drawn it.

Steve shrugs and pockets his phone, the tips of his ears the faintest pink.

Bucky smiles and throws an arm across his shoulders, crushing him close and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head, murmuring a quiet _thank you_ into the soft hair there.

The rest of the walk is fairly uneventful, Bucky keeping a firm hold on the bag despite Steve’s occasional offers to carry it, Michael asking Steve about some of his tattoos and showing Steve the one he’s got on his left shoulder. The two get along well, and Bucky is inordinately happy to see the most important person in his world getting along with one of his newer friends.

Getting Steve to socialize can be tough, always reluctant to open himself up. He has friends from childhood, from university, even a few from work, but Steve has never been one to walk into a room full of strangers and come out with a new group of friends, not like Bucky. He makes fewer connections, slow and steady but strong, and Bucky respects that, but sometimes he wants to show Steve off to everyone he knows and make sure that everyone can see what he sees, how amazing Steve is.

They stop at a corner where they have to part ways and Steve shrugs out of his leather jacket, folding it over his arms as the midday sun begins to beat down on their shoulders. He’s wearing a dark blue Henley underneath, oversized and pretty obviously Bucky’s if the way Michael lifts an eyebrow at him is any indication. It looks good on him though, open neck exposing sharp collarbones and swirling ink, a simple silver chain that ends in a ring.

Michael says goodbye and Bucky and Steve continue on their way, Bucky with a ridiculously pleased smile on his face.

He takes Steve’s hand, dark ink aligning like puzzle pieces at their wrists.

His phone buzzes as he’s handing over the cans at the food pantry, but he doesn’t think to check it until he’s home, too caught up in the way Steve’s fingers fit between his own, the joy of having Steve warm and present at his side, glowing in the sun.

He doesn’t check until Steve asks him to look up a recipe for lunch, already puttering around in their small kitchen while Bucky leans against the table. And to Bucky’s surprise, it’s a message from Steve.

It’s another sketch, of him propped up on his elbows, laid back on a rock in the middle of the river, the sun bright overhead and water droplets glistening against his skin.  There’s a simple line of text beneath it: _veşnic verde_. Eternal green.

A new message pops up below the first.

_I love you._

Bucky looks up and sees Steve watching him from the kitchen, a small smile on his face. Vulnerable. Beautiful.

Bucky stands and pulls Steve into his chest, presses his face into the short hair at the side of Steve’s head, just above his ear. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “So much.”

His fingers find the heart at the base of Steve’s neck, trace over it carefully, like it’s something precious. Because it _is._

His thumb traces the newer words beneath it.

_Totu-i vis_ _şi armonie._

 

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr, same username.


End file.
